When night fell on them, they had reached the trickling stream with the dead Ent. In nature's way of decomposing, vines covered most of the black bark and grass sprouts grew through it. Legolas mourned the creature—he said no Onodrim was created evil, so the Darkness had to have corrupted it.

Come daylight, they reached their tethered horses and exited Fangorn. Rowan relished the sun warming her face; even though hot and muggy, the dark forest had seemed cold.

Mounting their steeds again, the five hunters set off following Boromir's directions—he had visited Edoras a year ago to borrow a horse, and he remembered the path. So, he led them now instead of Aragorn. Since Gandalf wasn't there to guide them, it was a good thing she had saved the Gondorian captain so he could.

It took them a day and a half of hard riding to reach Edoras. When the singular hill came into sight, they stopped to admire it.

A tall wall of wood surrounded the hill; within the walls were many houses, built alongside a road winding up to the terrace, where the great hall of men watched over Edoras. Mounds, dotted with white, lined the road snaking to the gate on either side. The roof of Meduseld did look to be thatched with gold. Snowcapped mountains lined the horizon. Shining like silver, a stream flowed down from the dale.

"There are guards atop the gate," Legolas said.

Rowan recalled the scene at the gate in the book not seen in the movie. "I'm sure we'll be questioned. Say we're returning the horses to Éomer and we are here to speak with the king."

"Is the Third Marshal here?" Boromir asked.

There was that defensiveness again...

Anyway, she had to think back to where he was in the book. "In the book, he is, but not in the movie—Éomer and his men were banished. He didn't mention that when we met him, so we'll see which is the case here."

Riding toward Edoras, the road winded upland to the city. Once they drew near, they passed between the mounds—seven on one side; nine on the other. The white, star-like flowers that covered the mounds—simbelmynë—only grow where dead men rest. It was quiet there; silent; peaceful.

At the gate, they were questioned, and Aragorn answered as Rowan instructed; they were let in without hassle. Following their guide, the guard led them up through the city to a grand stable. They passed many dark doors with horse motifs decorating each building and weary people dressed in dark clothing. Somber eyes watched their passing. Children didn't chase each other; there wasn't any laughter or even talk among neighbors.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli mumbled.

After reaching the stable and dismounting, the guard led them up the stone-hewn steps to the gold-inlaid front doors of Meduseld. Four guards stood at the top: two in front of pillars, and two on either side of the closed doors. Full-face helms hid their faces. They wore armor embellished with golds, greens, and browns, and held spears in one hand and a green shield on the other.

Once they made the landing, their guide bowed his head to them and went back down to the gate. As soon as he left, the doors swung inward and six men came out.

A tall man stepped forward. "I am the Doorward of Théoden," he said. "Háma is my name. I cannot allow you to approach the king so armed. Relinquish your weapons before you enter."

Rowan had told them the past night what to expect, so having to hand over their weapons came with no rebuttal. Although Aragorn warned Háma not to draw Andúril or he would die. She removed her sword, two long knives, and multiple throwing knives alongside the others. Once the guards believed them weaponless, the doors were pushed open. Hidden within the innocent bracelet on her wrist was their greatest weapon... She hoped.

They entered, finding the hall dark and warm. Once Rowan's eyes adjusted, she was stunned: the Golden Hall was just as beautiful as the one in The Two Towers movie. Sunbeams falling through the windows lit the stone floor of many hues decorated with runes; exquisitely carved pillars held up the lofty roof; woven tapestries hung on the walls and lively murals were painted in-between spaces—the rich colors faded from age. Many people and armed guards stood throughout the room.

After passing the fire burning in the hearth in the middle of the hall, they stopped. Before them, an old man sat in a gilded chair atop a dais with three steps. The man had long white hair, an unshapely beard, and a thin golden circlet sat upon his brow. King Théoden.

An extremely pale man with greasy black hair, dressed in black robes, and had no eyebrows, sat beside him in a chair. He continuously whispered into the king's ear as they'd approached, never taking his eyes off them. Brad Dourif portrayed the worm known as Gríma Wormtongue well.

They bowed in respect.

"Hail, Théoden King!" Rowan began. She had rehearsed what to say for two days. "Far have we traveled to bid warning."

Wormtongue turned to King Théoden, smug. "Did I not warn you, my liege, these five would be heralds of woe? Dressed as they are in gray like beggars, how could they not be?" His voice slithered like a snake.

"Gray is our raiment given to us by the elves of Lothlórien."

He stood and headed down to them. "Ah! You are supported by the sorceress that dwells within those woods. The warning you speak of can only be lies conjured by that witch."

Gimli growled and moved to meet him; Rowan put a hand out to stop him.

"The warnings we bring include you, Gríma," Rowan said. "No longer will you pour poison into the king's ear. So, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. We know what a snake you are."

Stopping before them, Wormtongue was speechless for a moment. Regaining his senses, he looked around her. "What of your silent companions? Speak! Or are you under a spell?"

"Our dealings are with the king of Rohan" —her eyes shot venomously over to Gríma— "not his mouthpiece."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "For a woman to speak so boldly, she has forgotten her place."

White-hot anger exploded within her. Being a female didn't make her frail, simple-minded, and defenseless. She had become a stuntwoman to prove women were equal to men. Degrading her was the fastest way to piss Rowan off.

Wormtongue's comment pissed off the guys with her. She grabbed Boromir to hold him back and ordered the other three to stop their advancement.

Boromir was tense, hard. His hands had clenched into fists—he looked ready to pummel Wormtongue. "That filth should not speak of you in such a way."

"I'll handle this," she told him.

She turned back to approach Gríma. "Out of these four with me, this woman is the one you should fear, puppet of Saruman."

Alarm flickered across his face. His eyes shot to her far right, and he jerked his head.

Before the pounding of feet reached them and Gríma could slink away, Rowan rammed her palm into his nose. When he recoiled in pain with his hands going to his nose, she drove a knee into his ribcage, grabbed him when he bent to regain air, and threw him to the side. A deep thud sounded when his back collided into a pillar. She bet he didn't immediately rise. Perhaps her presentation taught the Court of Meduseld not to imply that a woman wasn't inferior to a man.

Like she had warned, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir fought Gríma's henchmen, keeping them off her so Rowan could focus on King Théoden. He watched her approach.

"Long have you dwelled in the shadows, Théoden King. Come back to the light." She held out her hand for him to take, specifically her left one with the Bangle.

"Come back, you say? I have never left," he said in Christopher Lee's voice. "Gríma spoke the truth: that sorceress has disillusioned you to believe I need rescue."

Rowan knew Saruman's true power lay in his voice, but she hadn't expected to feel its strength leagues away from the wizard and through another man's mouth. His words were persuading and resounding... Had she been misled? Was this the king as he meant to be?

She mentally shook her head—she held firm to the fact that King Théoden was bewitched and she had the power to save him.

"I will release you from this spell if you but take my hand."

He cackled. "What power do you have, One-Who-Does-Not-Belong?"

Her back straightened. He called her out on being one who had no place in this story. She'd show him.

"One that is greater than yours, Saruman the Fool."

The wizard snarled through Théoden's features and lunged for her neck. Reflexively, she raised her arm to shield herself and his hand wrapped around the Bangle of the Anduin.

Both jolted as unbelievable power shot out from the bracelet. Théoden's mouth popped open. Energy rushed through her veins and headed toward the clasp on her wrist, combating the wizard's magic. He jerked and convulsed as Saruman was exorcised from the king's body because of Lady Galadriel's power within the jewelry.

With a flash of light, King Théoden was thrown back into his throne. Rowan stumbled back, shocked and weak from the energy coursing through her. Boromir caught her from behind and held her up. Supported against him, she looked back at the king.

Slightly curled-in like he was about to be sick, he moaned. He tipped out of his throne.

Rowan attempted to reach for him, but a blur of white shot from her left and caught the king before he fell out. Features cleared as they sat still. Long, wavy blonde hair hung down their back. White dress. Slender, feminine, porcelain hands pushed King Théoden back. Éowyn.

Seeing the transformation before her eyes was far more magical and astonishing than watching the makeup tricks through a screen. It being real made a difference, too. White hair shortened to blond locks; the unshapely beard withdrew and became neat. Cloudy eyes cleared. The sickly old man gradually melted away into the younger, healthier Bernard Hill.

He touched Éowyn's face. "I know your face... Éowyn."

She gave a half-laugh, half-sob, before laying her head on his arm as she hugged him.

Gaining enough strength in her legs to stand, Rowan straightened from her slumped position against Boromir. He stayed close, probably in case her legs gave out again. Her movement drew the king's eyes.

Puzzlement furrowed his brow at not recognizing her, which grew into caution.

"Uncle, do not fear," Éowyn began as she lifted her head. "She returned you to us."

Alarm faded from his eyes.

Rowan bowed her head to him. "Breathe the free air again, my lord."

King Théoden rose from his chair with Éowyn's aid. He did as she suggested, taking in a deep breath. Rowan sensed the Court crowding in to see their king return to his former glory. Her heart swelled with pride at knowing she helped—she could practically hear Howard Shore's magnificent, heroic score for this scene in the movie.

"Dark has been my dreams of late," King Théoden said. He looked down at his fingers, feeling of their weakness.

She stole Gandalf's line again. "Your fingers will remember their strength again if they grasped your sword."

Like in the movie, Háma came up with a sheathed sword and presented the pommel to the king. Metal rang as he pulled the heavy sword out of its sheath.

King Théoden's shaking grasp grew firmer as his eyes traveled up the long sword. He lowered the blade to look at Rowan.

"I am in your debt, my lady. What would you ask of me?"

She looked over at the dark form of Gríma finally stirring. Gimli grabbed his robe to hold him still if he tried to run. Blood ran from his nose as he looked back at the dwarf in puzzlement; realizing what had happened, his neck snapped to the king. His eyes widened in fear.

"You have a worm to dispose of, my lord."

"Arrest the others and throw him out," the king ordered.

Guards did as he commanded, roughly seizing Gríma Wormtongue and hauling him out, screaming his innocence. Others dragged the unconscious henchmen to the jail. As soon as the floor cleared of bodies, King Théoden marched toward the entrance; everyone else followed in his wake.

When the doors opened, and light poured in—blinding Rowan—Gríma yelled as the guards threw him down the stone-hewn steps. Coming out of Meduseld, she stood by Aragorn and Boromir on the terrace, watching the man in black tumble down and King Théoden descending behind him. The commotion had drawn the attention of the townspeople, for they gathered at the bottom.

Gríma came to a stop on the landing before the steps turned to head the rest of the way down. Preparing for the rest of her plan, Rowan kept an eye on the Ranger beside her.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!" Gríma cried as he scooted back from the descending—and probably murderous—king with his drawn sword in hand.

"Your leech craft would've had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" King Théoden spat.

"Send me not from your sight!"

Like she expected, Aragorn moved to head down. Rowan grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Aragorn, no. Let him die."

The Ranger looked at her in disbelief. "How can you say that? Enough blood has been spilled on his account; there shouldn't be more." As Wormtongue continued to beg for his life, Aragorn tried to rip his arm free.

She kept her hold but got in front of him to further impede him. "You're right. Too much blood has been spilled because of him, but with his death, I believe less will be wasted."

He looked at her; even though she hadn't described the battle at Helm's Deep, his eyes lit up as understanding dawned on him. She only wanted to save lives by changing the story, and he knew that. Aragorn didn't fight to get free anymore.

King Théoden's sword sang as he lifted the heavy sword. Wormtongue's terrified scream split the air before being cut off by the whoosh of the falling sword and a sickening squelch of the blade slicing through flesh. A dense silence followed the public execution. Rowan was glad her back was turned, so she didn't have to see it.

"Hail, Théoden King!" a male shouted from the gathered townspeople.

Rowan turned back around—so not to show disrespect—and bowed her head. She avoided looking at the dark form lying before King Théoden and the growing puddle of blood.

After turning around, the king took some time as his eyes searched each face. She knew who he looked for.

"Where is Théodred? Where is my son?"

She glanced at Éowyn to gauge what had happened based on her reaction. Her eyes dropped further as she grimaced.

Rowan had hoped that from how the story changed that Théodred would survive. She guessed there were some things that couldn't be changed.